Rewound {PTX}

Starbucks

Scott follows me downstairs, through the door, and past our cars. Unlike at our old apartment, it's a fifteen minute walk from here to the nearest coffee shop, but I need the extra time to try to explain. "Aren't you worried you'll lose it or someone will steal it?" Scott asks. My bag is hanging from my shoulder and my fingers are resting against the plaque on the Grammy inside. If I can win a Grammy, I can win the Sing-Off, right? That's what I keep trying to tell myself.

"I'm really high-strung right now, as of two minutes ago, and it's best not to question my sudden insanity. I'm trying desperately to come up with a way to explain." Telling him wouldn't be so hard, but how am I supposed to make him believe me? I have no clue whatsoever. "First of all, I'm really, really sorry. I didn't see that you needed a break. You shouldn't have had to tell me. I'm sorry for neglecting you." He's about to say it's no big deal, but it really is, so I cut him off. "Second, I'm having a mental breakdown, and I'm sorry about the timing. I really wanted to hear a lot more from you, understand better, and stop being the world's worst best friend. I'm still planning to, but I can't yet. I wanted to put off telling you this until a better time, but it turns out it can't wait." I had to wait all week to be able to talk about this, and I have no idea when I might fall back into 2011. I have to get this out as fast as possible. I feel so bad about this, though. He needs me, and I'm not here for him, and on top of that, I need him to be here for me. "Can you bear with me?"

"Of course."

"I'm so sorry. I promise I'm going to get my act together as fast as I can."

"What's the matter? Are you okay?" He sounds just like he did four years ago.

"Think for a moment about how you felt five minutes before Nick announced that we won the Sing-Off. Now imagine that instead of talking on and on and eventually telling us, he vanished or was called away on urgent business. You don't know when he's coming back, or even if he's ever going to come back, and he's the only one who can say who wins. In the mean time, your life is completely on hold. That's approximately what I feel like right now."

"What happened in the two seconds between when I walked out and you decided to kick the door down? After the initial confusion, you were taking it really well, but then..."

"This isn't related. It's something I'm dealing with in addition to losing Pentatonix."

"Should I be worried?"

"Do you remember when I woke up screaming about crystals during the Sing-Off?"

"No?"

"Then you don't need to be worried. It won't affect you." It wouldn't have made any sense for him to remember that, but a small part of me was worried the things I did when I went back in time would still somehow be a part of this timeline. It seems they've branched off, though, which means no matter how badly I mess up there, I can't ruin this world. It also means no matter what I do, I can't stop this Pentatonix from leaving me.

"What won't affect me?"

"There is literally no way to explain this without making you think I'm crazy. I won't make you promise to believe me, but can you promise not to have me committed to an asylum?"

"Are you a danger to yourself or others?"

"Not really."

"Then unless you're about to tell me you don't love Beyoncé, I promise not to have you committed."

"I still don't know how to say this." I'm trying. I really am.

"Then let me ask questions. Is anyone hurt?"

"No."

"Are you stressed?"

"Very."

"Excited?"